The Girl
by Jacques Sparreaux
Summary: Before she was The Woman, she was The Girl. And oh what a little brat she was! Holmes reminisces a long forgotten memory...
1. Such a Scandal

**A/N: I made another multi-chapter fic! XD Don't worry, I won't abandon The Fox to His Hound. This idea came to me a month ago, I wrote it down and just had the time to publish it now because I was busy with my other fanfic. But, in case you guys don't want to wait for the other longer fanfic to update, I give you this one for a while. I think I can update this one faster since it's a shorter story. :D**

**I just HAD to write this! **

* * *

**Such a Scandal**

* * *

March 22nd, 1888

He sat on his favorite chair by the fire on that spring evening. A pipe filled with shag tobacco was lit but lay unattended beside his hand on the side table, and beside that stood the newly acquired photograph of the lovely young woman.

_Irene Adler… no, Irene Norton, nee Adler._

On his lap lay the letter. It was frayed and a bit crumpled now. He had reread it so many times that day.

'…_and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very truly yours…'_

In his other hand, he turned a pink shell button between his fingers…

Mrs. Hudson had called a few times at his door announcing his dinner, but he paid no mind. Watson had stayed with him until late in the afternoon, worried that what just happened would put the detective in a fit of rage.

Thankfully that did not happen, so the doctor had to leave.

The quest he went through earlier today made him feel drained, although it had been a short day he felt all energy had left him, save a little to do trivial things. He didn't want to come out of his rooms, he wanted to brood and mull over the recent events.

He was outsmarted by a woman. Never in his entire life did he expect that to happen.

Holmes felt no shame, no, he did exactly as he had planned and he'd go around telling the world that his plans were always the best, flawless, unequaled and perfect. But she simply stepped on him like that, just like that.

Her and her dainty little satin boots. No, he felt no shame, he felt challenged in fact. But he was truly humbled.

A young singer, just married, undoubtedly a few years only since her social debut, had humbled the greatest detective known to man.

_Lestrade was going to have a field day._

It was all too funny actually, very funny. He wondered if Watson, Mrs. Hudson and the entire Scotland Yard had been all in this to make a fool out of him. A joke was more likely, more acceptable for him. The sting of defeat, yes defeat, was simply too much for him. He'd accept it if it were a criminal mastermind that'd put all this into motion, but no…

It was a little woman in a lace bonnet.

This was the first time he had been defeated by the fairer sex. That was what he knew Watson believed. If he knew about what had happened in Holmes's youth then the detective will truly be ashamed.

Although the realization of loss over the case overpowered him, Holmes felt something else tugging at his memory.

_Could it be? Could it be that The Woman…_

He held her photograph in his right hand…

_And The Girl…_

His fist tightened around the small pink shell button…

_Were one?_

If Watson knew that, he'd put that all into writing, and it would get published. The world will know…

_Such a scandal it would be…_

* * *

**A/N: That was chapter 1... please hang on for Chapter 2!**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	2. Little Women

**A/N: Blast from the Past! XD LOL**

* * *

** Little Women**

* * *

"For a young man of twenty, you should be out there enjoying youth! Meet men your age and socialize! Attend the grand balls and meet the loveliest debutants of the season. With features and that inexplicable knowledge of yours, surely, lass after lass will fall at your feet, and a fortune to boot! Ah Mr. Holmes you are a mystery. Why, men my age would offer anything to regain our youth, yet you an eligible bachelor, lock yourself for hours and hours brooding over dusty books and artifacts and bending your back over these chemical experiments in this museum!"

Professor Port ranted as he cleaned the test tubes, his mustache quivered and his lips pursed with teasing disfavor under his white scraggly beard.

Sherlock Holmes merely shook his head and smiled as he wiped the apparatuses dry.

Their recent experiment with acetones met a fruitful conclusion, the professor suggested that they rest for the next week and had the equipment cleaned and stored. Everyone else in the lab had gone home but them, and the moon hung low outside the window of foggy London.

He offered to stay late and help the old man, although storing them was useless for tomorrow he'd still come back and tinker with his own experiments. The other reason why he stayed was because they were neighbors and Professor Port was the only man he considered a friend more than acquaintance since Victor Trevor.

A year had passed since the Gloria Scott incident and after Trevor Senior passed away. It was a dark experience yet an enlightening one for it was his first case. Victor became busy tending to his father's estate that the distance and isolation put a strain on their friendship, he wrote several times on occasion; nevertheless he had a place in Holmes' memory.

"Men like me professor," he spoke as he stacked the retorts in a cupboard, "should learn the ways of the world and dwell on the productive science while youth still gives us the energy to do so and make the world an innovative place. Women are fair creatures, but to allow distraction of the kind would mean to break the chain of acute study. A flaw in a pattern, a crack in a powerful lens, grit in the gears of a –"

"_Sensitive machine!_ Yes, yes, oh how well do I memorize your remonstrations against women." The old man chuckled. "Yet, then again, most of your clients are fair young ladies."

"Fair, young, and careless ladies professor."

He had followed Trevor senior's advice and employed his sharp observation and skills in deduction to alleviating London from crime. Yet his popularity grew slow for not many men knew of his talent, and when they did, they scoffed at the idea of a teenager solving their tribulations. But college acquaintances knew very well what he was capable of and word spread among their age group and with that, he was able to acquire clients, albeit being young people who lost certain things like jewelry.

He didn't earn much, but Holmes didn't care for money, if he was short, there was Mycroft to call at. But he did consider improving his art, what with the lack of clients, he had all the time in his hands to learn more, and what better way to learn than to learn within the walls of the museum.

His lodging was two blocks away from the museum and five blocks from the hospital. Professor Port is a cousin of Holmes' teacher in college who was fond of his deduction skills. The elderly Port eventually took Holmes under his wing and allowed him access to the museum where he worked and at times in the hospital where he had connections. Port was his benefactor, and although they disagreed on a number of things not less than five times in a day, he owed the knowledge he collected to the old man.

"These little women merely think of me as a hound sniffing out for their lost possessions. It is quite an undertaking for me professor, not that it is difficult, but it is redundant, I have been a master in lost and found at the age of eight! It dulls my mind to not do anything more than to work with sniffling, powdered, and coiffed little women."

They were walking down the thoroughfare that led from the museum to their neighboring apartment buildings.

"Hush now Holmes, don't get all worked up young fellow. All you need is a case I'm sure and you won't have to blame little women anymore." the professor laughed and patted Holmes on the shoulder.

"And a jolly good case it better be." Holmes muttered sullenly.

They reached Port's building first.

"I presume you'll be back in the lab tomorrow although I announced a rest week for the entire lab?" he asked before they parted as they stood on the front steps.

"Most likely." Holmes replied.

"Then you don't have any cases at present?"

"Disappointingly, no."

"Then you'll prove helpful at the museum tomorrow. The curator has assigned a task to a few men for the week, a couple was reported to be sick and he needs men to fill in. You'll find the job worth the time; give your chemical work a rest for a while."

"Will this be helpful to improving any of my skills?"

"Oh yes, very much. Your people skills." There was a mischievous twitch on his lips as he said that.

Holmes' eyebrows furrowed. "Not what I had in mind, but if you say it would then it won't hurt to try. What are the subjects of the task?"

This time the twitch on Port's face had become a grin.

"Little women."

* * *

**A/N: The Gloria Scott was Holmes' first criminal case when he was still in University. Read the book to understand. But don't worry, even if you don't it's not important in this fic. Professor Port is an original character of mine, he's like Watson, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson all rolled into one. There will be no John Watson in this story... sorry.**

** Will update chapter 3 next week. :))**

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


End file.
